


why can't I keep my fingers off you, baby?

by Splatx



Series: Kinktober 2020 [6]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: "public sex", 'Sex' on the back of a horse, F/M, Gender-neutral Reader, Gotta Keep Quiet, Handjob on the back of a horse, Horseback Riding, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Kinktober2020, Messy, Nicknames, Public Hand Jobs, Quiet Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Swapped Prompt, not as quiet as you'd thought
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26887030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splatx/pseuds/Splatx
Summary: Kinktober 2020, #8: "Public Sex"“Kieran,” you ‘shhh’-ed, peering around to make sure he hadn’t drawn Charles’ attention, “I ain’t gonna force ya to do anythin’ ya don’t wanna do. But I’ve seen how ya look at me,” the sound he made was nearly comical, like a rat what’d been caught up by the tail, and you slipped your hand down until the very tip of your fingers were resting inside of his pants and oh there was very much a tent there, “if I do anythin’ you don’t want me to do, just say somethin’.” with that, you dipped your hand into his pants and took him in hand.
Relationships: Kieran Duffy/Reader
Series: Kinktober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947451
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63
Collections: Kinktober 2020





	why can't I keep my fingers off you, baby?

###  _Why can't I keep my fingers off you, baby?_  
~Drunk in Love, Beyoncé

Kieran was stiff as a board in front of you.

If you didn’t feel so bad for him, it would be almost comical.

  
  


Lawmen had sniffed the whole of you down, and you’d had to leave in a hurry. In the rush Bill had gone and dropped a box on your foot and, well, it hurt like a bitch and you couldn’t ride your horse alone. You’d tried - pride had demanded it - and nearly blacked out the moment you'd tried to shove it through the stirrup, and it had been decided that there was no way you’d be riding alone.

There was no room in the wagons and besides, you needed someone to guard the back. Charles would be riding in front of you - Dutch and Arthur led the way, Hosea driving the foremost wagon, some folk rode besides, and you and Charles usually rode in the back. But now you had the O’Driscoll _(not an O’Driscoll!)_ and nowhere to put him so, after being pulled aside and told to keep a close eye on him (which you took to mean ‘make sure he didn’t hijack your horse which… well, wouldn't the others notice if he did?), he’d mounted up your poor mare and helped you up behind him, looking as terrified as the time Bill had nearly gelded him.

Poor man.

  
  


You weren’t complaining though. You’d been gone on him for quite a while, had joined Mary-Beth in keeping him from dying while he was tied up (and you were under no illusion that no one knew, he’d have been long dead if he hadn’t been fed or watered) and hadn’t been _too_ cruel after.

And the way he _looked_ at you didn’t escape you, you’d caught him looking away abruptly when you’d turned to him, having clearly been staring moments before. Had come into earshot as Arthur threatened to skin him if he didn’t stop, felt horrible for the man every time he turned white at the sight of you.

So it hadn’t surprised you much when, as you wrapped your arms around his waist to better balance yourself, slipping your rifle onto your mare’s saddle, he went almost impossibly rigid.

He made a funny sound when a particularly bouncy stride bumped you two together, and you had a thought.

_What_ else _might have gone stiff?_

You had to press your face between his shoulder blades (somehow, he went even more rigid) to hide your grin that could out-mischief a fox, forcing it down.

As nonchalantly as you could you peered around Kieran, spotting Taima’s spotted rump far up ahead - Charles would never be able to see the two of you, good - and, when Dolly’s trot went a bit too bumpy as she had to avoid a large rock, allowed your hand to slip up his shirt.

He squeaked.

Her trot bounced your hand up and down, only barely but, from the way he’d sucked in his stomach, shaking slightly, it seemed to be enough. You unfolded your hand, allowing your palm to sweep up and down along his stomach, and he whimpered, voice high enough to make dogs whine as he choked your name.

“Kieran,” you _‘shhh’_ -ed, peering around to make sure he hadn’t drawn Charles’ attention, “I ain’t gonna force ya to do anythin’ ya don’t wanna do. But I’ve seen how ya look at me,” the sound he made was nearly comical, like a rat what’d been caught up by the tail, and you slipped your hand down until the very tip of your fingers were resting inside of his pants and _oh_ there was very much a tent there, “if I do anythin’ you don’t want me to do, just say somethin’.” with that, you dipped your hand into his pants and took him in hand.

He moaned, long and loud, lolling his head back. You squeaked a sound that could have come out of him, “Kieran, shh!” and peered around him - Charles, by the grace of god, was still riding along, looking straight on at the wagons.

“Kieran, you have to be quiet,” you hissed, and he nodded even as he bucked his hips into your hand, his own flying up to cover his mouth when you pumped into the movement of his hips. “Darlin’,” he jumped, made a sound low in his throat, “the reins.” the poor man groaned, but dropped his hand from his mouth and did as he’d been told, “eyes ahead,” and did so too.

God, but he was _dripping,_ how he hadn’t already soaked through his pants you didn’t know. There was absolutely no resistance as you pumped up and down, popping the buttons on his pants to pull him out as the denim rubbed your hand raw, “Tell me if Charles looks,” so you could hide him because surely he’d long gone beat red at the head.

Shit, but he was already close, pathetic little whimpers choking out of his throat that you prayed weren’t loud enough for Charles to hear, covered up by the thudding of horse hooves in the dirt, stomach flexing as his hips bucked with each pump of your wrist. Your hand was _soaked,_ his cock throbbing, spurting little drops of pre-cum onto his shirt - goddamn, he was making a fucking _mess_ of himself he’d need to put on one of the coats in Dolly’s satchels or you’d be given away in a heartbeat - and when you run your thumb across the tip he clenches his hand on the reins so tightly that Dolly snorts her displeasure.

He whined, long and low, as he came.

  
  


For days, Charles couldn’t look either of you in the eyes.


End file.
